Insomnia
by AmethystDragons
Summary: Sleepless nights take their toll - but at least Ja'far had someone to lean on. Sinja.


It's three in the morning and Ja'far can't sleep.

The moon is at half-mast on the horizon, a cat-eyed slit that only slightly illuminates the surrounding darkness, and Ja'far props himself up from a lying position to on his belly, supported by an elbow and arm, to rub his face with a free hand. It's quiet, and dark, and the breeze from the window is neither too cold nor too warm, but Ja'far can't sleep, and he sits up, bare torso twisting towards the window.

There's a sleepy rumble and Ja'far tilts his head, sideways, back, and observes the emergence of a tangled head of purple hair. From his view, a drowsy gold eye is revealed for a heartbeat, twice as he blinks, and then that familiar face is turned toward him.

"Still awake?" His king says.

The warmth is welcoming and Ja'far wants to sink back into it, but the needles under his skin won't let him and he tangles his fingers along Sinbad's hand before climbing out of bed.

Neither needed an answer.

Xx

It's the afternoon and Ja'far's eyes are heavy, and he puts down the thick scroll for a second and leans back, blinking heavily. It's oppressively warm and he can feel the faint dampness of sweat along his back and slicking his palms, but even with his headdress off and the upper part of his robes undone the heat makes him drowsy and irritable. Frustrated, he rakes thin fingers through his hair, knowing that the action probably left strands of white hair sticking out at awkward angles yet somehow unable to care much.

Movement to the side, and Ja'far doesn't shift an inch as an arm appears behind him, depositing a goblet to the right of the scroll. As the arm is retracted, Ja'far is struck by the difference in temperature of warm skin and metal versus the cooler fingers that briefly trace his cheek. He rubs his chin, then gives a soft involuntary sigh as the hand returns, this time holding a cloth still trailing straggling droplets of water to the junction between his neck and shoulders.

He runs a tongue over his teeth and looks back, neck cracking slightly after hours of relative stillness, noticing the tiny variations of gold in the eyes that study him back. "You could take a rest, if you're tired," Sinbad says.

"There is still work to be done, my king." Even if he stopped, he couldn't sleep, he thinks – but doesn't say.

The knowledge, nonetheless, still hangs around them.

Xx

It's cool down by the docks, cooler than the heat of the castle, although part of that could be attributed to the sun sitting on the horizon, while a good bit of the rest is carried off in the form of tension and stress brought by negotiators and ambassadors that took up most of the day. The sea breeze toys with the loose fabric of his keffiyeh, sending it tumbling over his shoulders and into his face, and he holds up a hand to keep it from obstructing his vision.

He lets out a soft noise of protest as someone – and he knows perfectly well who – removes the headpiece from behind, although it does a wonderful job of drying the damp sweat on the nape of his neck. Ja'far turns, blinking a bit into the sun, and frowns at the man smiling down at him.

"You look good like that," his king says, a soft look on his features that Ja'far usually is only reserved for when they are alone together. The rules are informal, but nowadays with the constant threats and turmoil they worry about outside eyes less and less.

"Like what, my Lord?" Ja'far asks, because beyond Sin's usual flirtation and fondness that he holds for his advisor, they are honest with each other, and Ja'far knows that right now there are dark circles under his eyes and weariness in his stance.

He knows – they know – the problem, but the cure is beyond him.

"In the sunlight." Fingers on his chin, and Ja'far bares his throat and feels that selfsame flutter in his chest that Sin has prompted since day one, back when Sinbad was little more than a career dungeon diver and Ja'far was a child assassin hiding in the dark. "You're beautiful by moonlight, and dangerous by darkness, but in the fading light of the day you are more radiant than the evening star, my dear."

Ja'far permits that gentle touch for a moment longer, then shifts and gracefully sidesteps, folding his hands back into his sleeves even though they itch to grab the keffiyeh back. Public appearances aside, the wind through his hair is rather lovely, so he will deal... at least for a little while more. "Sweet talk me later, Sinbad. Shall we go back?"

And though Sin will make numerous offers on the walk back – pubs to explore and places to eat, even as Ja'far shoots him down – he notices that Sinbad keeps his steps slow and certain, careful to stay close.

It hurts even as it comforts.

Xx

It is morning, it has to be, but when Ja'far pads to the window and looks out, the clouds are heavy and gray and water mists his face. The rain is cold, a cross between shockingly and refreshingly so, and Ja'far sets his palms on the sill even as he savors the sense of blood pumping in reaction to the change.

A warm body molds into his, and Ja'far leans back unthinkingly, feeling his head tuck under the other's throat and hands settle under his ribcage. Anyone else, and they would be gutted and thrown in the ocean, but Sinbad always has and always will be an abnormality when it comes to Ja'far, and he allows the physical contact even as he bats curious fingers away from the sheet he had wrapped toga-style around his body.

It's quiet for a long while, the two simply _being_, Ja'far counting the breaths of the ribcage slowly expanding and contracting behind him as warm fingers doodle random, but not meaningless, symbols across bare skin. The sound of the rain is constant, and it masks all others; the two of them could be completely alone in their own small universe. In the pre-dawn dimness, the only light comes from a wavering candle that Sin must have lit when he felt Ja'far leave the bed.

Sin is the first to break the silence. "You didn't sleep again." It's not a question, but Ja'far considers it for a moment before conceding that Sinbad was absolutely right.

"I'm worried, Ja'far." Ja'far turns, slightly startled, but hands are on either side of his face and Sinbad's forehead is against his, eyes warm and dark and concerned. "I can see you getting weaker and wearier every day. I don't want to see you like – oh, my dear, maybe this is selfish of me. But I need you – I don't want to sit and watch as you waste away."

Ja'far closes his eyes and turns his face into the palm to his right, even as his own hands shiver against Sin's chest. "I am scared," he admits, not venturing above a whisper – even in their own little microcosm, he doesn't want to voice such a fatal weakness too loud. Insomnia was something that came and went throughout his childhood – especially when he forsook his former job – but never had it been as bad as now. "I… I do not know what to do. And," even quieter, "I don't want to leave Sin either."

Sin draws him even closer, his breath ghosting against Ja'far's face, eyes still kindled with that ever-present soft glow of determination. "I won't let you go, baby. Don't you worry about that," and he gently thumbs away a tear that drips down Ja'far's face – if he was startled, it didn't show, but Ja'far hadn't cried in years and hadn't realized he was about to now.

His brain and body are still struggling from the exhaustion of sleepless nights, but right now they're alone and if he can't trust Sinbad, he can't trust anyone.

And even though he can't trust himself, he does trust Sin.

Be it strength or weakness, he could never tear himself away from his king.

Ja'far stands on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders. Sin is warm, comfortingly so, and Ja'far holds on tight even as arms tighten around him. He feels as though he's teetering on the edge of a cliff, and – with a sense of vertigo – he whispers, "Please... Help."

Sinbad turns his head and Ja'far screws his eyes shut, but lips are pressed to his temple and Ja'far sways as he feels his feet leave the floor. He's lifted up, one arm hooked under his legs, and he keeps his head tucked into the side of Sinbad's face even as the other paces across the floor. He wobbles slightly, and Ja'far looks over his shoulder as Sin shuffles on his knees to the middle of his huge bed where not too long ago they had curled together as Sin slept and Ja'far searched for sleep. This time, though, Sinbad propped himself against the numerous pillows, holding himself upright as Ja'far felt himself lowered onto Sin's lap.

"I won't let you go," his warm voice promises, and Ja'far shivers as cool air meets his skin as Sinbad pulls his blanket toga away. Carelessly, the discarded sheet is flung to the foot of the bed, and Ja'far feels vulnerable and crosses his arms over his chest – or, at least, he tries to, but Sin lifts him up in his arms again even as he leans back, and all Ja'far can feel is Sin – skin meeting skin, long hair tickling his side.

Kisses drift down his face and one bare shoulder, and Sin rocks them both even as Ja'far presses closer, finding himself craving the contact. "Sin?" He murmurs, and lips briefly meet his own.

"I've got you, baby," Sin promises, their swaying recalling distant memories when they had curled together in a hammock in the cabin, the ship rocking with the rhythm of the waves. Lips find his forehead even as fingers knead gentle patterns, and Ja'far realizes that Sin always knew – Ja'far still had problems accepting help, but he was willing to wait for as long as Ja'far needed.

He always had been, after all.

Lips press against Ja'far's closed eyelids, and for the first time in a while he feels like he could sleep. With one last effort, he pries his eyes open, looking at the face of his beloved king inches from his own.

"Love you… Sin."

And the last thing he feels is being held, and the last thing he hears is, "I love you, Ja."


End file.
